


Hit The Road

by sheriffbucky (pluckybucky)



Category: Red Dead Redemption
Genre: Angst, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-19
Updated: 2019-01-19
Packaged: 2019-10-12 16:16:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,327
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17470838
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pluckybucky/pseuds/sheriffbucky
Summary: Jack would rather rot with his parents than feed the damn cattle, and so, he leaves.





	Hit The Road

     The nice lady Jack Marston’s father knew offered to watch the farm for a few weeks, and Jack couldn’t be more thankful. Maybe it’s the constant isolation, maybe it’s the fact his parents graves are watching over him, whatever it is, Jack knows he can’t be there for long before the dread sets in. So, he packs his gear on his father’s horse, and he leaves. He leaves, and though he promised to return, he isn’t sure he will keep that promise, because, to him it’s too much effort to live in that death sentence, and he’d rather rot with his parents than feed the damn cattle, and so, he leaves.

     “ _C’mon,_ girl,” he urges, running his hand along her neck, “Just a little bit further, alright?” According to his dusty map, the next town was only a few hours away, they’d be there soon, and honestly, Jack does not want to take a rest. Maybe it’s his impatient, hasty personality, but he’s not going to rest while they’re at the homestretch to Rhodes.

     Rachel lets out a gruff sound, lowering her head in the process, and Jack rolls his eyes. “Yeah, I know you’re tired, you old nag. Keep goin’!” He says, and Rachel responds by halting. Jack frowns. “You’re doin’ this now? When we’re so close?” He stresses, and Rachel shakes her head, giving another huff. So, Jack lets out a drawn out groan as he dismounts Rachel, deciding he wasn’t going to get any more mileage out of her right now, and takes her lead into his palm.

 

     “Alright, _fine,_ ” Jack grunts, “Have it your way.”

 

     It’s dark now, the stars making their home in the sky, as Jack begins to lead Rachel through the barren desert, and due to the darkness, Jack can’t see much, and so he focuses on the one thing he can, the crunch of his boots underneath the Lemoyne soil. He’ll diverge their route, off the main road, just to make a camp, he tells himself, as soon as it’s daylight, he’ll pack it up and move out again. Honestly, there is no true reason to rush, Jack has nowhere to be, but to Jack, it feels like a life or death situation, that if he doesn’t keep going, he’ll just get sucked back into coming back, and he’s scared of that. His mother wanted what was best for him, and Jack tells himself that this is what’s best for him.

 

     He calms himself from the dread, and stops. This is fine, he says, and drops the lead, letting it swing free. He quickly unpacks his camping gear, which is neatly packed onto Rachel, and gets to setting his tent up.

 

     “Y’know,” He tells the horse, “I don’t know how my father put up with you. Unless you were real awful sweet to him. You’re lucky I ain’t throwin’ you out to the wolves.” On some level, he believes the horse can’t understand him, but when he looks to Rachel, he can feel on some level that she’s telling him; “ _Don’t say things you don’t mean, boy._ ” And he hears it in his mother’s voice, for some reason. He blinks, then turns away. Finishing up his tent, he goes about the fire. With no wood in sight, he looks around his surroundings as best he can, and settles on the nearby patches of dried grass. He does so, running his hands through the rough, tall grass, and quickly tugs chunks of it into his hands. Throwing it down near his tent, he returns to Rachel, digging through the bag on her side, and retrieves a book. A boring one, in his opinion. He steps back to the tent, sitting down with his legs crossed as he opens the book. He’d make a sarcastic joke about deep literature, but the horse doesn’t understand english, so he doesn’t. He cuts to the chase, ripping several sheets of paper out, and throwing them along with the dried grass. He throws the book behind him rather carelessly, and slowly leans forward, shoving his hand into his pocket. A lighter, scuffed all to hell, is what he pulls out. With one hand supporting himself on the ground, and the other flicking the lighter’s cap open, he lights the pile up, thinking to himself; “Don’t catch anything nearby on fire.” and quickly ducks away at the fire spreads through the junkpile. He scoots away, returning the lighter to it’s home, and settles his hands on his knees.

 

     “Well,” He gestures to the horse, “You got your wish. Now rest up, I ain’t one for waiting around.” He places his hands behind his head, and lets himself fall, hitting the ground with a huff. His eyes now on the star scattered sky, he blinks. “Mama’d kill me if she knew what I done.” He chuckles, and he doesn’t know why he does that. “She’d smack me upside the head, I’m sure. Bet she’s talkin’ pa’s ear off in the ground, wherever the hell they are. It’s easier to think they’re somewhere, instead of here, I think.”

 

     He sits up only slightly, leaning on his elbow. He’s still looking in the direction of Rachel, but his gaze is unfocused, like he really isn’t looking at her. “I ain’t tryin’ to care too much about that. Hope wherever they are, they can’t see me now.” On cue, he retrieves the flask on his belt, which should logically be filled with water, but Jack isn’t always logical, and he wraps his lips around the whiskey filled container, dipping his head back to chug as much as he could before he ran out of breath. He quickly leans his head forward, dropping the flask back, popping the cap back on, and setting it next to his person.

 

     “I ain’t even tired,” he says, then shuts his eyes. He’s tired, and he falls asleep as quickly as a baby in his mother’s arms.

 

     He dreams of himself, in a different life. On the perfect day, his mother asks what day is it? He looks at the scrambled word mess on the newspaper and tells her it’s the nineteenth. His father ruffles his hair and smiles. _Another day in the field,_ Pa says, _keep it up and you’ll be me._ Jack turns to his father and asks him what that means. Pa laughs, and doesn’t answer. Pa leaves out the door, which leads to the white void, and shuts the door behind him. Jack gets up from his seat, and turns to his mother, who looks at him with such sincerity. _Don’t mind your father,_ she says. _Are you okay?_ She asks. Jack looks down at himself, the rusted gun in his palm, and death in his eyes, and says _no._

 

     The sunlight burns at his face, is the first thing he feels as the grogginess sets in. He blinks, and slowly rises. Rachel is just where he left her, which he’s thankful for. He bends forward, and feels the crack in his back. He yawns, rubbing the back of his neck. He makes sure to return the flask he left on the ground to his belt, and gets to his feet.

 

     “G’mornin’, your royal highness. You gonna act right?” He drawls, and Rachel huffs.

     He kicks out the remainder of the fire, and packs his tent up, returning it to Rachel’s sides. He saddles up, spurs her on, and continues on his way, one step closer to Rhodes.

  


     He makes it there in no time, the first thing he notices is the graveyard, empty of the living, but filled with the dead as he rides into the town, head lowered. Men pass by him, giving him a nod, and he doesn’t nod back. He rubs his stomach, furrowing his brow as he realizes he left his food back home, and hasn’t had a meal in awhile. He shakes it off, and stops in the middle of the town, glancing upwards at the signs presented to him. These places, though foreign to him, usually are not that hard to get around in. There, is the general store, perfect for his situation. He pats Rachel, “Good girl,” he whispers, and watches her ear flick in response. He turns her, and settles at the hitching post outside the store, settling her lead on the post.

 

     “Holler if there’s trouble,” He says to Rachel, and heads into the store.

 

     The bell on the door greets him, along with the portly man behind the cash register. Jack doesn’t look at him, but he tips his hat in the man’s general direction. Beans, is the first thing he thinks, then he sees the peaches in a can, then the small cakes. He realizes then how truly hungry he really is, he isn’t too sure he’s had a true meal since Ma died, living off the canned goods left in the house. Thank god he stole the rest of his family’s cash before setting out, (it’s technically his if nobody’s left to claim it, right?) he grabs much of what he can in his arms, and quickly returns to the front of the store, dropping everything at the counter, head still hung low.

 

     “You sure that’s all?” The cashier says sarcastically, letting out a chuckle. “You a traveler, I presume?” Jack grunts as a yes, before opening his mouth. “Yessir.” He says, reminding himself of manners. “Y’know,” The cashier says, “I like your hat. Feel like I’ve seen it somewhere.” Jack rolls his eyes from under his hat’s brim. “Well, hats are common, sir.” he responds. The cashier snorts. “Smartass.”

 

     As the cashier counts up everything Jack’s collected, Jack begins to raise his head, glancing around his surroundings. The man, who somehow seems familiar to Jack, has a nose as red as if it’s freezing in the store, with the stupidest hat Jack is sure he’s ever seen.

 

     He turns his head, and sees a picture in a frame, and slowly leans forward to see more of it. It’s far, it’s blurry, but he’s sure he recognizes the people in the picture. He squints, and there on the side, he sees a man with fresh scars across his cheek, and Jack’s heart stops.

 

     “Sir?” The cashier says, “Y’gotta pay up.” Jack turns to the man, and attempts to recollect himself. He sniffles, wiping his nose. “Who’re the people in that picture?” He asks, playing dumb. The man instantly lights up, grinning as he turns to the picture. “My family, all of us together. It didn’t end well, but it wasn’t all bad.”

 

     Jack scratches the side of his face, darting his eyes to the side. In his head, he hears his father say; “ _Speak, boy!_ ”

 

     “I’m Marston,” He blurts out, shaking his head in disbelief at that awful attempt to introduce himself. “Jack Marston, my pa’s in that picture.”

 

     The cashier, who went from jolly, now has a wide-eyed kind of look, mouth opening, then closing.

 

     “ _Jacky boy?_ ” He chokes out, then suddenly, he grins, hollering out as he raises his arms. “I **knew** you looked familiar, how the hell are you, kid? It’s Simon Pearson!”

 

     Jack rubs his neck. “Sorry, sir. I was awful young back then, I don’t really remember much.” He doesn’t notice Pearson’s expression change, he’s still just as happy.

 

     “This is great! Just look at you, all grown up. You look just like your father!” Jack cringes, and Pearson tilts his head. “Where the hell is he? Sending his boy to Rhodes for supplies.” Jack dips his head low, and Pearson shuts his mouth. “Sorry, sir. My pa ‘n ma are gone.” Jack states, draining the emotion from his words. Pearson’s expression drops significantly, eyes widened. “John and Abigail? God damn.” Pearson says. “Always knew John was gonna get himself killed somehow, but Abigail? That woman’s a force of nature. I’m _sorry,_ son.”

 

     Jack can’t bring himself to respond as he begins to rummage through his pocket, searching for payment. Pearson raises his hand. “No, boy, it’s on the house.” Jack pauses. “I, uh.” He attempts, but Pearson cuts him off. “I insist, kid. It’s the least I can do.” Jack finds himself speechless, but obliges, collecting his things into his arms, and taking a step back, preparing to leave, yet Simon stops him. “Wait! Uh, your father,” Pearson begins, “He was a lotta things. A pain in the ass, a prick, but everyone knew he was as loyal as a dog. When everything went to shit, I knew he’d walk to Hell ‘n back for you and Abigail.”

 

     Jack pauses, and ponders his words. He doesn’t remember much, he was only 4 when he was apart of the gang, but he knew of glimpses. On some level, he wanted to refuse Pearson’s words, block out anything about his father, and move on, but in his heart, he leans into Pearson’s words, and mourns silently. “Yeah,” Jack says, “Yeah.” He turns around, and walks towards the door, head lower than it was before. He hears Pearson lean back, and mutter a curse as he truly takes in John’s death.

 

     Jack pushes the door open with his shoulder, and scurries out the shop, the sun brighter than he remembers.

 

     “Alright, girl,” He says, as he empties his hands into the bag on the side of Rachel. “I’m,” he pauses, putting his hand on her neck and leaning his head against her. “I’m going to,” He mutters, he strains, but the horse offers a comforting energy. “I’m going to the saloon. You stay here, you hear me? I won’t be out in awhile.”

 

     And so, he slowly stumbles to the saloon, as if he’s already drunk, and walks through the doors, swinging them open as he steps inside. Some eyes turn to him, but most continue on their way as Jack walks to the bartender, sits himself up on the barstool, and _cries._ He doesn’t say a word, and the bartender gives him a whiskey.


End file.
